WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

[abraxasmods]

WELCOME TO THE FREE CITIES!

Welcome to The Free Cities! The portal exits outside the capital city of Cadens. The first impression of the city is its sheer size. It sprawls out across the landscape like a great hulking beast at rest. The wall that encircles it barely contains it, the buildings of Cadens practically bulging against its restraint.

The air here seems thicker somehow, tinged with a scent that’s acrid and smoky. Smog hangs high over the city, belched out by smokestacks that tower over the industrial district. The desert stretches out behind it, dotted with towers and dust clouds that disappear into the horizon. Multiple gates lead inside and each is staffed by soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms that wave a steady stream of people through without appearing to pay much attention. People are coming and going almost all of the time, to and from the outposts and areas of activity around the city proper. It’s difficult to tell just what’s out there beyond the impression of tall metal structures and a great deal of labor. Wagons carrying travelers to Libertas and Aquila roll out from the Travel Post outside the city wall.

Anyone who can sense magic will notice a much lower concentration here. No one will be stopped or questioned at the gate, even if the soldiers seem to take note of the fugitives from Thorne.

The activity and sheer number of citizens can be overwhelming. It’s crowded and loud and feels constantly in motion with everyone talking and yelling over each other. It’s easy to get swept up in the ever-moving throng or find oneself ducking into the mouth of a narrow alley just to breathe.

Anyone who’s willing to make their way to the northern part of the city and Portham Hall will find Prime Minister Marlo Reiner available to receive them.

Comments

group hug o'clock!!

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri has been counting the minutes anxiously.

With one arm, she wipes her red and puffy eyes, rubbing the coarse, dingy fabric of her prison tunic's sleeve across her face to smear the tears and dirt in a way that isn't helpful in the slightest; with the other, she grips Jaskier by the elbow, crumpling the fabric of his shirt where her fingers squeeze it tightly. She tries to train her breathing -- get ahold of yourself, you pathetic fool! -- but it isn't working yet. Not when the anxiety claws at her lungs with every stuttering breath that barely manages to keep from being a sob. For now.

They wait. The seconds crawl by. The noise of the city, ignored and unimportant to her at this moment, fades into the background, a meaningless cacophony. She doesn't look around. The portal was a one-way door, and Ciri only has their current location to go by, refusing to let herself be distracted and risk losing Geralt in the crowd of people traveling in and out of the gate they seem to find themselves just outside of. ]

He'll be here soon. [ She tells this to Jaskier, but it's not for his benefit. Ciri squeezes the bard's arm without looking over at him. ] Just watch-- There.

[ The crackle of magic. She can feel it, raw and harsh, stronger in its impression for the lack of magic around them now in this new place.

Ciri gasps aloud, a catching, damp sound that sticks in her throat.

And then she's running, dashing forward the few yards to where Geralt has fallen in the dirt, panic and relief surging in her chest. Jaskier, still firmly in her grip, will simply have to keep up. ]

Geralt!

[ Ciri cries, dragging Jaskier down with her when she falls to her knees beside the Witcher. Only then does she let go, and only so that she can reach for Geralt instead. ]

[cointosser]

[Honestly, it's not the first time a beautiful woman has thrown herself upon him and wept, but oftentimes it is much more desirable than now, and he usually does not feel himself upon the edge of becoming ill with dread. When Ciri had moved to cry against him, he hadn't even known what to say. It felt instinct to wrap his arms around the girl as she let out whatever it was that had upset her.

He was not so foolish to think it was relief in the release. And though his taunting healing of Yennefer's face had given him a spark of something, it was quickly lost the longer he stared into the streets and found no one coming out behind them.

It's not for his benefit because it does nothing to ease his nerves. Jaskier's voice is tight when he answers, his grip on his lute one for death when Ciri is already nigh-crushing the bone in his arm.] Why is he talking so bloody long, then? Where is he?

[Cold fear moves down his back. All of that planning and effort, if Geralt gets caught again -- what will they do to him? They'll execute him, of course. It's the only course that makes sense --

Jaskier gives an ahh! as he's jerked forward in Ciri's grip, tripping over himself and the flowerr petals at his feet -- he only notices them for a moment before looking up -- and he finishes the last few hands between them himself, grabbing Geralt in his own embrace on the other side. And while Ciri is happy, Jaskier is hitting him in the shoulder.] You fucking, stupid, ignorant troll! Why did you make us wait like that? I thought you -- you were swallowed up by something!

[gynvael]

[ The instant he sees them coming towards him, a pressure releases from his chest. He breathes again. Someone curses as they walk around the three of them. The sudden scent of florals overwhelms him, but he's too distracted with Ciri's arms around him and then Jaskier's, as well, to think about it. His hand goes up to hold them in return. Here, in this moment, he'll allow it.

Why.

It strikes him Jaskier does not know. He pulls back a little. The rush of the city rattles his bones. Slowly, it begins to settle. Slowly, he begins to pick apart details: the flowers, the wide gates, the heat in the air. Cirilla's red eyes, heartbroken. Geralt suddenly feels a heat rise inside him. Because fuck Yennefer for doing this, and fuck everything for the fact that she's right, that he can't see it any other way, either. He swallows hard. It doesn't matter. He's here, with them, and at least that's—he won't let anything happen to them. Which means they can't linger. He doesn't care for claims that the magic can't be traced. He knows better than anyone that if you're skilled enough, you can track just about anything.

His gaze fixes on Ciri. He knows, without asking: the powers her Elder Blood grants her have not returned. So he says nothing of it. A problem for another day. He reaches for Jaskier instead with his other hand—something he rarely does, but after everything, he finds he's just relieved to still have his friend with him, shouting at him. For all that's turned upside down, Jaskier remains steady—unchanging. ]

We need to go. [ He pushes to his feet. If any question remains about whether Yennefer will arrive, it's answered in that statement: there's no one else to wait for. They need to go. His fingers curl, missing the grip of a blade between them. (He'll ask about the flowers another time.) Thorne might've been bastards, but he'd come to know them. Here, he hasn't got any idea what they're dealing with. Only that at least no one's glanced twice at them. That's enough. ] Stay close.

[wiedzminka]

[ They huddle there in the road for a few minutes, holding onto one another. Jaskier's shouting is, weirdly, a relief. Geralt's arm around her shoulders, solid and firm. Ciri breathes, and it feels like the first full breath she's taken the whole hour.

They have much to discuss, but this isn't the place for it, and not the time. Geralt doesn't need to ask about her abilities; if they'd returned, Yennefer would be here too, and 'here' would be somewhere else entirely by now. So she swallows back the tangle of apologies and curses scratching the inside of her throat, lets Geralt pull her up to her feet, and looks ahead instead. ]

Lead on.

[ Geralt doesn't have to share his misgivings about staying here aloud. Ciri isn't keen on sticking near the portal's drop point either, so the sooner they can put distance between it and them, the better. ]

[cointosser]

[At some point Jaskier quits his hitting and holds onto his friend, and tries not to lose it himself simply because, after all of that, that whole season of not knowing whether they would make it out of Thorne -- it's hitting him all at once, and watching Ciri cry is making it much more difficult to pretend he's fine, that he's always been fine, that weeks of sleuthing and reading and pretending had not worn on him.

He stumbles to his feet, rubbing his face and patting his cheeks. They made it. All three of them --

And that we, as small as it is, does say enough. He suddenly realizes why Geralt may have taken so long. Why they are no longer waiting for anyone else. Maybe he's wrong. He doesn't want to ask.

Jaskier rearranges the lute case on his back, his grip now on Geralt instead of the strap. The city is busy and they can't afford to lose each other now. It's just... fuck, it's so much to take in. All of it. The city, that he just went through a bloody portal -- that Thorne may track them, even now, with that brand on the prisoners.

Fuck. One thing at a time. Jaskier clears his throat, and his voice only warbles a little bit. One thing at a time. Right.] First things first. We need to buy you two clothes that doesn't make you look as if you crawled out of a slave gutter. Come on. I have some coin. Enough, I should think, for that.

[gynvael]

[ His attention stays on Cirilla for a few more moments. He wants—fuck, it feels like he should say something. Do something. Reassure her. But he doesn't know what or how, still feels that distance between them even as much as he's beginning to accept that she's Ciri. The Child Surprise he'd never intended to have, and then never thought he could have, never mind with Yennefer's involvement. With Jaskier's involvement. Ciri knows the both of them well, he can tell, and after the way he'd left things with them at home, it feels.

Complicated.

He leads. He might not know what in the hell to say, but he does know how to keep them safe. So it's what he does. Leaves behind that lingering sense of loss and sheer frustration in Thorne, and begins to formulate what needs to be done. Away is first, and—

He looks over at Jaskier. And clothes. The bard has a point. Geralt gives less of a damn about the looks of it, but he wants to get out of these rags into something that actually fits, that isn't so loose to be grabbed onto. Actual footwear before they wear down the soles of their shit sandals. There are wagons that roll along the roads, but he isn't certain it's worth expending their handful of coin.

Speaking of. ] How much?

[ As if he'd missed Jaskier pilfering from the frozen guards. Pretty damn certain he spied the bard pocketing a man's wedding ring, but beyond that, he hadn't noticed exactly how much Jaskier had managed to obtain. If they've enough for clothes, food, a room for the night—that's all they need. He can find work easily the next day. City's big. Someone out there's willing to pay to have something heavy moved. ]

[cointosser]

[Normally Jaskier would have taken that question and loved to tease with it. A game, sort of, to not answer direct questions because Geralt did it so fucking often to him. Something to waste time as they acclimate to the newest town they've found themselves in. (So much of this could have been normal. Another day on the Continent.) Now he only sighs.] Enough. [It's not supposed to be a game. It depends on the prices here. If Thorne coin passes for money, even. If they will accept it.] If they take it. Enough for clothes, a bit of a stay in an inn. Perhaps enough for a sword.

[He looks at both of them. Well, at least one sword for now.] I wasn't sitting on my hands in Thorne, you know.

[All right, and he did rob the guards when they were frozen, but honestly, he doesn't have a single regret.] I have a few things we can sell. You can show me your unending appreciation later.

[So though Geralt may have expected to lead them, it's Jaskier who takes the helm, driving their small party towards a market for clothing. He's the only one that looks somewhat reasonably dressed, even if his doublet is still marked with embroidered suns. Luckily, the market has enough offerings that they manage a few pieces, and two pairs of boots for the Witcher and the princess. Jaskier's bag of coin is lighter after, but. Like he'd said. Enough for a night and food.]

I suggest we hole up in an inn as soon as possible. I'm sure you both need the rest.

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri is quiet, for the most part, letting them talk through their next steps. She agrees, so there's no need for more input than the occasional nod or grunt (and the look down, the grimace at her own prison rags). Another time, another place, she may have been excited. She would have looked around with curiosity, watching the people in the crowds, examining the city streets. Not now.

She keeps an eye on their surroundings out of caution and instinct only, taking no joy in it, following closely behind Geralt while Jaskier makes arrangements. First the clothes, then an inn. ]

We all do. [ Ciri agrees with Jaskier's assessment, brushing her hair out of her eyes anxiously as she looks around. ] Saw one a couple streets back. Didn't look expensive.

[ Some things tend to be the same even between worlds; the run-down little tavern she'd glimpsed down an alley certainly won't cost them as much as the homey-looking inns near the market. And they haven't got much coin to spare.

This time, she leads the way. Any protests from Jaskier are met with shrugs and shakes of her head, insistence that it's more important to save their money just in case. Jaskier's offer to get her her own room is even more poorly received: Absolutely not, she snaps, and that's that.

They're in luck. The place does offer lodgings, if only humble ones. There's only one bed, but it's upstairs, there's a window, and the door locks. Good enough.

Ciri goes immediately to the window, getting the lay of the street outside and the quickest way down.

Then, she sighs, turns, and slides down along the wall against her back to sit on the floor. Her head thumps audibly when she leans back. ]

...shit. Okay.

What now?

[gynvael]

[ Enough. Geralt accepts the answer for what it is. Jaskier's the only one who's even held any of the coins in his hand. This is the first he's seen of this sphere's money. The economy had not made its way down to the dungeons beyond old bread rolls and spare apples.

He stays with Ciri while Jaskier barters. Like her, he has his sights set on the rundown corners of the city—not only to save a few coins, but because they're least likely to draw attention there. He's zero interest in questions over how out of place the three of them are. And he still doesn't know about the magic that Thorne once used to track prisoners. If it holds—here, in the midst of enemy territory, it's unlikely they'll be pursued. Worth being cautious, though.

There's a quiet huff as he watches Ciri bully Jaskier (it's familiar); beyond that, he's silent. He hasn't got the energy to give two shits over how many beds. A part of him senses why Ciri is so adamant she not be put in a room of her own. It is, in some ways, the reason he feels the same. That he doesn't want either of them out of sight. And once they're in the room, something about her, he can see it—how she peers out the same windows; studies the same corners that he would've—

Fuck, it's too much to think about. (How long did they travel together? How long did she stay with him? Weeks, months? Years? How much did he teach her?)

He tests the latch on the door. Flimsy. As expected. Not worth doing anything about it, probably. If anyone he can't handle ever came through, then a sturdy lock wouldn't have stopped them in the first place. So. Good enough. Room, clothes. He doesn't sit, but he does lean against the wall by Ciri. ]

We eat. [ He eyes the portion of food in Jaskier's hands. The wine he knows is in that lute. A cork can't keep him from smelling it. ] Then sleep. I'll see to supplies tomorrow.

[cointosser]

[For once in his life, Jaskier does not insist on the more expensive inn, even though it's always been him dragging Geralt to nicer accommodations (and usually paying for them, if one must be honest.) Until he can establish himself once more, it's best they budget their coin.

And honestly, anywhere that isn't that blasted room in Thorne is better.

He does, however, insist Cirilla should take her own room -- there's plenty for that, at least -- but, of course, she argues, because Jaskier cannot meet a simple person in his life who simply agrees with his suggestions. He huffs at her but lets it go, feeling a very harrowing sense of déjà vu.

The moment the door is closed, he removes his lute case, his shoulders aching, and sets it near the door. He can't hold back the huff of a laugh at Ciri's declaration.]

What, this is your first prison escape? [He actually doesn't know. Prior to this, they had been very limited in their conversation. There's a whole life to Ciri he doesn't know yet, isn't there? And the same is said of Geralt.

He eyes his friend steadily. This is, truly, the first time he's seen them together. The Witcher and his Child of Destiny.

He turns his back and sets out the food he's managed on their way upstairs, opting instead of eating for falling face-first onto the bed. He nudges his boots off, one after the other, and simply sinks into it. He'll move. Eventually.] This must be the first time in my life I've ever heard you recommend something even slightly akin to relaxation.

[Said into the pillow. Whatever, he knows Geralt can hear him. He lifts up just enough to turn his head to Ciri.] How are you doing, my girl? I'm afraid you didn't have the drawn-out introduction the rest of us did.

[wiedzminka]

...hm. First one quite like this. [ She responds without really answering. Jaskier might have meant it as a joke, but she doesn't seem amused.

Ciri draws her knees up, stretching her arms out to rest them atop, idly picking dirt from under her fingernails. ]

Still deciding. [ How could she possibly be doing? Not happy, but also relieved to be out of that cell. Anxious. Frustrated. Worried about Yennefer. Upset that the power she'd never wanted fails her now that she actually wishes it were here.

Ciri glances up at Geralt. Then, if he doesn't move, she lets her head tip sideways, resting just barely against his leg. More for the connection than physical support. They can get up to eat in a minute. ]

My head says 'don't waste coin,' but my heart says, 'fuck it, I need a drink.'

[gynvael]

[ Jaskier's remark gets little more than a grunt out of him. They need to eat. He's been subsisting off of one meager meal a day for weeks, aside from whatever pastry Jaskier managed to shove into his pockets. Geralt stares back pointedly. He can tell what's on the bard's mind—what he's thinking. Jaskier was there in Cintra. Jaskier's one of the only people who knows what he thought about...having this child. It feels like everyone's always believed he should've taken the girl. Destiny. Torn her from her family, with no regard, because Destiny had declared it so. Like Visenna had done with him.

She's not a child anymore. And some part of him recognizes that means whatever happened before, somewhere along the way, she's made her own choices again. To remain close with him and Yennefer, years later. He just—it's hard to know that he's important to her and also know that he isn't...the same. That the dismay on her face the first time they met, it'll never quite go away. (Will it?) That all the embraces and relief in the world cannot make up for a decade lost.

Something bumps his leg gently. His gaze shifts down to Ciri. A thread unwinds between them, and he takes it despite himself. His expression softens. He sits down beside her; lets her head fall on his shoulder instead, if it will. ]

Or, [ he looks up at Jaskier, ] we have a drink on behalf of the bard's sticky fingers.

[ Just hand over the fucking wine, Jaskier. Geralt hasn't any idea where Jaskier got it, never mind how in the hell it ended up in his lute case during an execution of all events. He also will not ask. In truth, he'd take it himself, but if there's one thing Geralt doesn't do, it's go near Jaskier's lute without cause. The bard becomes a different person where the sanctity of his instrument is concerned. ]

[cointosser]

What? [He lifts his head again, staring at Ciri as if he's trying to figure out if she means that or not. First one...? No, you know what? It can wait for another day. He shifts onto his back, staring at the roof above. His tiredness has reached a point that feels bone-deep, but it certainly is not fair for him to take the bed when he's had one.

He considers arguing for it. He's not a complete bastard, though.

Eventually Jaskier manages to crawl off the bed with a huff, noting that the Witcher and the girl have gotten... quite close. Closer, he thinks, than he's ever seen anyone with Geralt. Besides -- well, her. Yennefer. Obviously. And this is not like that.

Jaskier purses his lips.] Right. I forgot about your bloody Witcher senses. They must be back if you're sticking your nose in my lute case!

[It is old hat that Geralt knows to leave certain things of Jaskier's alone. Specifically that case. And his lute... his lute which is not in it. It's a fine enough lute, what they provided to him. But it is not his. And now, with the freedom to miss it, the weight of its loss suddenly returns.

He regards his companions in silence after his half-hearted snap, and somehow, the sight of it lessens that weight in him.]

Look at you. Two peas in a pod. [He rubs his face, then, with a sigh, smiles.] I suppose I can be convinced to share. As long as you remember the meaning of the word, Geralt.

[He may have stuck his tongue out a little as he goes to open his case, but he will not acknowledge it. The lute inside is still surprisingly safe, and his hand runs down the neck before he lifts it. Behind the instrument are the few things he managed to steal and he, luckily, brought with him prior to the execution. He is now no less thankful that was the day they'd picked, he and Hector. It would've been glorious.

Nestled in the groove where the lute's neck lay is a wine bottle wrapped in velvet, which he definitely also stole. He takes it, offering it to Ciri. The cork already sticks out a bit. (How else was he to be brave enough for the escape today?)] Ladies first.

[wiedzminka]

[ When Geralt sits beside her, Ciri takes the silent invitation with great relief; her shoulders relax slightly, something in her chest loosening. She breathes out, shifting her weight to lean against him, and blinks back the tears that blur her vision again suddenly at the fresh rush of emotions too unwieldy and mixed to name.

Even if things are different by necessity and the distance of time, even if she is still unfamiliar, she doesn't feel like a stranger anymore. It's still not entirely comfortable, but it's not uncomfortable either. A slow progression. Trust extended. A fragile spark of happiness in a well of uncertainty and worry.

She smiles, lifting her head to watch Jaskier's movements, with the weight of her shoulder still leaning against Geralt's. Her other arm extends to take the bottle when it's offered.

Ciri is not shy. She pushes the cork out of the way with her thumb, letting it fall to the ground (this bottle is not going to stay full long enough to need to be sealed up again), and raises it in a vague gesture of toasting. ]

To Jaskier's sticky fingers.

[ She takes a long, enthusiastic swallow. And then another, pulling away from the bottle with a sigh. Trying not to drink her whole share at once before handing it off to Geralt. ]

[gynvael]

[ Some tension bleeds out of him. He isn't relaxed, not yet—but out here, inside this room, he breathes easier than he has for weeks. His senses have returned, finally; he can appreciate it now that it's stopped overwhelming. He's spent the past three months feeling like he's submerged underwater. Part of him already itches to find a hunt, a trail—to make sure everything's as it should be with him.

Drink will do. He watches Ciri tip the bottle back, unsure of what to say, how to feel about the unshed tears there. He quietly takes the wine. He'd say she's grown up far from the princess she once was, but. He's met Calanthe. There are shades of the queen in Ciri, too.

So. Here they are. The three of them. It isn't what he expected, isn't what he planned, but it's...something. A start. At least tonight, he can sleep without men stationed outside the cells watching. Take a damn bath whenever he fucking wants instead of waiting for Jaskier to come fetch him like a dog. He's only glad Cirilla and Yennefer arrived much later. That their time in the dungeon was brief. Or. That's the hope, in Yennefer's case. It's what he'll let himself believe until he hears otherwise. The thought of anything else—he can't do anything about it right now either way. No point in dwelling.

When he hands the bottle to Jaskier, his gaze settles on him. There's a conversation they need to have. Just not while Ciri is here. Instead, something else is on his mind. Something Jaskier told him some time ago, after that failed little escape by the others. ]

Are you friends with any mages that might've went through the same door?

[cointosser]

[Jaskier's mouth opens in outrage.] Don't make me out to be some common thief! This was originally going to be a gift, thank you!

[With a huff, he moves to sit beside Ciri, his legs stretched out in front of him on this dusty, dirty inn floor. If they're going to share this bottle, he may as well. Already just seeing her take a swig makes him consider going downstairs. What was a few more coins at this point? Fuck it, he wants to feel something other than sober for once.

He ignores and decides it's simply easier to comment on how the girl looks as if she may cry, how she's clearly not comfortable here. Hard to tell if it's because it's here, or because of what happened, and... he's too tired to ask, assumes she's too tired to answer. They barely know each other still.

He hopes they'll have time to change that.

Jaskier turns his head to take them in, next to each other. Next to each other, they are two peas in a pod. Somehow Ciri's face looks far too close to Geralt's: their hair a similar color, sporting scars that mar otherwise perfect faces. It doesn't make sense that bright green somehow feels so close to bright gold.

He's not sure whatto make of this. The idea that there is a Princess Cirilla out there who... who's here, and old enough to have been on her own for quite a while. Attached to a witcher who, only a season ago, was telling him to fuck off and to leave him alone.

A Witcher who must have been alone. Returning to Cintra before it burned completely. There was so much he was missing here.

And yet he smiles at both of them. Did it turn out all right, then? That someone could be so attached to Geralt like this? Of course she must be, that she leans against him so easily.

Jaskier sits up on his own, pulling threads from the edge of his sleeve as he awaits his turn.

His draw isn't as deep as the other two, but gods. That wine tastes fantastic.]

Mages? [He lifts his head to glance at Geralt across Ciri between them.] Well, I told Hector where I was going... [He frowns, a little, wandering what Geralt may be getting at. He watches his expression.

Ah. He phrased it that way for a reason.]

Give me enough time, I'll find plenty of friends among the mages. [He gives one of his winning smiles, even if it's very tired at the edges.] Can't have targets on you forever, can you? If it helps, the magic here is... it's less. Perhaps you both can feel it. It may not even reach here.

[wiedzminka]

[ When her turn comes again, Ciri is more conservative in her gulping. She hasn't had much to eat in a while (though more than Geralt, comparatively, since she's smaller), and nothing yet today. Already, the enthusiastic draw she'd taken from the bottle earlier is warming her belly. It won't do to get completely soused. Tempting as it is. ]

You are the most uncommon of thieves, Jaskier. It's a compliment.

[ She nudges his ankle affectionately with her new boot toe (she'd ditched the shitty sandals, as soon as they'd gotten real shoes, though the clothes will be changed into after a bath). The bottle is handed back to Geralt. ]

I can feel it is... different. But if you know anyone with more knowledge of whatever magic was used to track those in the dungeons before, it is still worth looking into. I'd rather know if we're still marked or not.

[gynvael]

[ Hector is not the mage Geralt was thinking of, both because the man is a necromancer and because Jaskier doesn't seem certain he's even here. A snort escapes him nonetheless. He'd seen that dramatic goodbye between the two of them. (Not that Geralt's one to talk.)

Both Jaskier and Cirilla seem to realize what he means by asking, so he doesn't explain further. ]

Cities seem prepared for war at any moment. [ How big is that army? Larger than Nilfgaard's, he wants to say. ] I doubt Thorne will encroach their territory for a handful of escaped prisoners. [ He still wants to know. It'll decide how he feels about leaving these borders. He hasn't got any plans to do so right now, but -- they're here solely for pragmatic reasons. Not because he wants to be caught up in this battle over the Singularity or the Cities' plans to destroy it. Their stay here is temporary at best.

He considers. Wonders, briefly, if he can pull on the same magic Jaskier has access to. The thought leaves him uneasy. He isn't a mage. Even if he supposes, had his life taken a different path, he might've been one. A sorcerer. A druid. ]

See who knows anything. [ He moves only far enough to grab the food. Crusty bread, hard cheese. Good enough. He splits the loaf for the three of them. ] I'd rather not rely on our good standing here to stay covered.

[cointosser]

I'll take it as one.

[For now! And though it surprises him Ciri would compliment him or be affectionate, Jaskier is more than happy to accept it right now. Things are complicated enough without questioning every little thing.

Jaskier tips his head back with a yawn.] I should hope none of us are that important.

[Besides, they certainly weren't the only ones here. Others had gone through that same portal. It would be to their advantage that the prisoners -- and the guests -- had scattered to so many far winds.]

There's certainly a chance Himeka is here. The dragoness who told me about the magic. But she's... [Jaskier isn't going to insult her because she's perfectly kind, but she is a little. You know.] At any rate, worry not, my fair friends. We will have plenty of good standing here, either way, once I've worked my magic.

[He wiggles his fingers to weave a little blue magic between them. Simply to show off.] More figuratively, of course.

[wiedzminka]

[ Himeka is a name Ciri recognizes, but she doesn't comment. If the dragoness, as Jaskier calls her, is here, then she wouldn't mind talking to the woman again; if not, they'll have to find someone else. Yennefer would surely have been able to tell, but--

Ciri tries not to dwell on how Yennefer is doing right now, tries simply to trust her and trust that she can take care of herself. Easy to think. Hard to feel.

She crunches into third of bread Geralt hands her, gnawing on it unhappily, and hopes Thorne thinks none of them are important. They'll find out sooner or later, won't they? ]

I don't want to draw too much attention.

[ Jaskier's livelihood is to draw attention, naturally. It's lucky that music is a universally prized skill, at least in most worlds she's visited that have people and cultures in them, and Ciri recognizes that it's important the bard build some reputation for himself if he's to rely on it and they on him-- but the way he says we, it makes her chest tighten uncertainly. She doesn't want to get involved too deeply with this place.

Though, in fairness, right now she doesn't know what to do.

She looks to Geralt, to see if he'll agree. ]

[gynvael]

She isn't here. [ Himeka is also a name he recognizes. She left through the other portal. Kay had told him so, in the brief moment they'd passed by each other. They'll need to rely on someone else. Someone who isn't Yennefer, which he's also avoiding thinking about.

He feels Ciri tense beside him. Geralt looks back, then over at Jaskier. At the spark of blue. The bard, with magic. He still can't wrap his head around it even after all this time. ] He'll be careful.

[ He knows Ciri is cautious, after all her time hiding from...the entire fucking Continent, apparently, but he also trusts Jaskier not to put them in danger. Like her, the idea of settling, of getting attention, makes him uneasy. They aren't going to be in the city in the long term if he has anything to say about it. And the political tension feels ready to snap at any moment. If it does, the last place he wants to be is deeply embedded here. Speaking of magic, though.

He tilts his head. How far along have Jaskier's birds come? They were mere illusions at first, but in more recent days, he's noticed the way they move. Pausing. Listening. (Not to mention the flowers.) ] Can you use your birds?

[cointosser]

[Jaskier snorts into his bite of bread.] If you're anything like Geralt, which you clearly are, you're both more suited to being, how do I say... shadows? Not the center of attention? Far from the stage? I'll be happy to keep all the attention on myself.

[He may not have spent much time with Ciri -- a problem which he was rather looking forward to fixing -- he definitely sees Geralt reflected in her. Some of his movements, maybe. Or how he speaks? He's spent decades with Geralt. He knows him well. Knows him plenty to see another also familiar with him.

He pauses in his next bite. Jaskier glances between them, and a small worry comes between his brows. He'll be careful. Ciri knows him, clearly. With lost time, and knowing his name. Why should anyone ever have to assure her he'd be careful? What, did Geralt convince her he was a fool, too?

He stops for a moment. It's true that she has not really indicated how well she knows him. Over a decade. It's a very long time. It's a long time to not know one very well.

He moves past it quickly enough, rolling a bit of cheese between his fingers to form a ball. The thought lingers despite it, and his tone is no longer as light as it was before.]

Oh, suddenly we're interested in my magic? [Jaskier says the words much smoother than he really feels about the whole thing. If anyone is bewildered still about his magic, Jaskier feels that much more about it. After his education in the arts, though, he certainly knows one must use one's talents, all of them, to get what they want. And in this instance, being safe... is what he wants.

A flick of his wrist, and a little bluebird sits on his knee, giving a few chirps before it stops. He no longer controls it now, and it hops down his leg, flutters in the air, and lands on the tip of Ciri's boot.] Yes. I'll send a few out. [He looks to Ciri in case an explanation is needed.] They can listen. Perhaps gather a few words we otherwise wouldn't hear.

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri nods, not insisting further.

Jaskier doing magic is certainly a novelty, but one she's prepared for considering she knows this place allows a connection to chaos to most of its residents. Even if being in the dungeon all this time, she hasn't seen much of it. The blue flourish of light, though a bit surprising, hadn't kept her attention as much as the bird. She reaches forward when it lands on her foot, trying to coax it onto her finger instead. ]

Oh, wonderful! And useful, too.

You must have a strong penchant for magic, learning to create something so intricate in such a short time.

[ She sounds genuinely impressed. And might be smiling a little easier thanks to the wine, even if it's still a tentative sort of ease. It will take some time before she accepts they're relatively safe here for the time being. And for the worry for Yennefer to fade a little more. ]

[gynvael]

[ His gaze sharpens. He's known Jaskier a long time. Has learned to read his frowns and pauses and shift in tone. He isn't certain what's changed in the air, but he can tell something has. Is it his magic? Something about it, that Jaskier isn't saying? In the end, he lets it go. If Jaskier has something on his mind, he has no doubt the bard will tell him soon enough. Jaskier's never kept anything to himself.

Instead, he crams some of the bread into his mouth. It's dry, shit bread. Actually, it's more shit than the buns they were given in the dungeon. But it's bread they got with their own hands and their own damn money. For all of this talk of plans and things that need to be done and being careful, Geralt still feels like he's ten paces behind. Scrambling to catch up with—all of this. A hundred unanswered questions, a hundred things he doesn't fucking know, that he can't yet know. Maybe never will know.

When the wine comes back to him, he takes less of a mouthful than he really wants. As much as he wants to fall into that stupor, he wants a clear head more. Let the two of them indulge. They sure as hell deserve it.

He lets Ciri talk instead while he stays quiet, sitting against the wall. She seems fond of Jaskier, brightening at his magic. Seems to smile easier than Geralt does. For that he's glad. That at least in this, she hasn't taken after him. ]

[cointosser]

[Despite the moment that passed him before, and despite the fact he knows Geralt noticed, Jaskier brightens a bit now with a curling smile around the edges of his lips. Wonderful? That was... oh. That was rather nice to hear.

He knew it. Ciri was a good, sweet girl still. A wonder, considering, and yet how his heart warms to begin to understand it now.]

I would love to think so, but my abilities so far are rather limited to this particular spell. A minor healing one on the side, if you want to count it. [He chokes off a laugh because bringing that up brings up the memory of Yennefer's face when he healed her bruises... right before he portaled far away from her.

Ah. She'll never forget that.]

Well, you must have some magic of your own, Ciri. I believe most did in Thorne. Have you tried at all?